West County Drive

I don’t post here much anymore.  I do check in.  Your comments come to my email address, so I read your thoughts and hold you in the highest esteem (you have no idea) – because you took the time to share your losses and hope someone was reading.  I am still reading.

This afternoon, I took a drive to Freestone, CA, less than 10 miles from my home.  I had a massage scheduled at Osmosis Day Spa.

Osmosis is a beautiful place away from the noise and confusion of my everyday world.  I am only an occasional client, one who seeks out an oasis in this amazing valley on the west side of Sebastopol, CA, when I need to escape the mundane and reorient myself.  I found a restful and healing afternoon and wondered why I don’t commit more of my time to this type of self-care.  These afternoons at Osmosis are expensive, beyond what I would normally consider prudent.  Yet, after a massage here, with the bountiful gardens and the setting sun, I get in my car to drive back home, and the physical, emotional, and spiritual relief I feel is worth more than I can adequately convey.

Earlier, on the drive west toward Freestone, however, I was confronted with memories that took me back in time.  I remembered Nat and Owen driving in the car with me when they were young, laughing at something absurd or silly, and holding their hands outside the car windows, catching the air’s currents that caused their hands to wave up and down, unpredictable and full of joy in the unknown coming of a physical manifestation that they couldn’t actually see.  Hands wave up.  Hands wave down.

Tears fell down my cheeks unexpectedly, and washed away my thoughts of this too-busy day through my recollections of times long gone.  As much as I wanted to hold on to the past, I also wanted to open more doors to the future.  Nat, my older son, is 31 now.  He is strong, funny, generous, and smarter than the average bear.  I wished he was with me on this short day trip.  But, alas, he was at work, as is to be expected of a grown man with a family.

How is it that I can so easily see and feel the old days through the files and folders of my mind?  This is the beauty of the human brain, the human senses, and the lived experience.  This is the stuff of which dreams are made.  I get to visit every single aspect of my life whenever the landscape and the car windows open my heart again.  The wind is warm on my face on this September evening.  I’ve opened the windows, and I know love.  This is the mystery of life.  I will never leave my loved ones behind.  They ride with me every day.  I…am…so…lucky.

Song for the night:  Through the Window of My Mind, Beth Hart  (Dave chose this song – he’s such a great companion, the kind of husband and father so many hope to find.)

~ by lsiniard on September 5, 2013.

One Response to “West County Drive”

  1. “I get to visit every single aspect of my life whenever the landscape and the car windows open my heart again.”


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